Throw The Ashes To The Wind
by Gray Doll
Summary: Spoilers for 6x09 and 6x10 / '"Teresa, what where you thinking?" he asks, his voice strained like he's been yelling. Or crying.' / Jisbon


_So this one's angsty, and not at all how I think things will go on the show, but I couldn't help writing it, as I still can't buy the overwhelming cheerfulness of the promo for 6x10 *sigh*_

* * *

**Throw The Ashes To The Wind**

It shouldn't surprise her, how quickly they fall into each other's arms as soon as he returns. When they finally pull apart and she looks up into his eyes, a part of her expects to see freedom in them, because maybe he does deserve it after everything he's been through.

He's missed her terribly and he's thrilled to see her again, that much she can tell. He grins widely, but the smile that could once stop traffic doesn't fully reach his eyes. She realizes then that it never has.

She always thought that after having his revenge he would finally let himself live again. That the perpetual darkness lurking beneath his cheery smiles and playful remarks would dissolve at long last.

But now he looks even worse, even after two whole years living free in paradise, without the shadows of monsters chasing after him.

She can't help but wonder if he can see through the cracks of her own poorly constructed facade, just as she can see through his. And then she has to bite down on her lip, hard, to stop herself from bursting into an hysterical fit of laughter, because she knows that he can. He always has, hasn't he?

She tastes blood on her tongue, and prays with all her might that he won't notice.

**x**

Her jaw nearly drops to the floor when he stubbornly refuses to work with for the FBI without her.

Her disbelieving gaze alternates between Jane, his jaw set with futile determination, and Abbott, who eyes them both calmly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. It takes every ounce of her willpower not to storm out of the room, and suddenly her vision blurs with anger and tears she refuses to shed.

Why is he doing this to her? How can he possibly think that things could ever get back to how they used to be between them?

He acts as though he was only away for a week. He believes that this could work, the two of them solving cases together once again, like nothing ever happened. Like he never left her. Like she's only all too happy to have him back.

And she supposes she is, in a way. But at the same time she knows that whatever fragile walls she's managed to build up around her in his absence will come crumbling down, and she'll never be able to repair the damage.

She wants to scream. How can he be so blind? Why can't he see that she's been through enough for him already? Why is it so hard for him to understand that she doesn't want him hurting her any more?

She shuts her eyes and feels the all too familiar self-hatred engulf her (because she too dared to believe once that perhaps things could work between them once he came back to her).

She'd been foolish, and blind. But he's still so confident in his ability to have his way with everyone and everything. He thinks he can waltz back into her life and dictate it for her.

Can't he see that she doesn't want this heartache?

**x**

In the end she simply gives in, just like she always does with him. She knows that, despite their best efforts, it will simply never be the same. It's surprising how fast they solve their first case back together, and even more surprising still how fast she allows him into her house, sighing with defeat as he makes himself a cup of tea and curls up on her couch.

There is a part of her that refuses to give up hope yet, but it's small and petty – and she simply ignores it. She sits down beside him and stares at him without speaking, listening to the clock ticking away the seconds as he carefully sips his tea.

They're kissing before she knows what's happening.

He tastes of Earl Grey and ashes, of desperation and the hope she struggles not to share. She absentmindedly reaches up to cup the back of his neck, to tangle her fingers in the golden curls of his hair, to feel his pulse hammering against her palms.

She always thought that when (_if_) they finally kissed, all the pieces inside her that felt broken and jagged would begin to knit together and heal. But now she can almost hear whatever's left of her heart breaking even further, into a million tiny shards she can never pick up and put back together.

When they pull apart, he looks at her with his impossible blue eyes glittering in the dim light, his pupils dilated and his hair disheveled. She knows what he's going to say before he does.

"Teresa-"

"Please, don't." Tears well in her eyes and she blinks them back, furious with herself for slipping yet again. He opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn't want to hear (she doesn't want to believe).

She leans forward and presses her lips to his, silencing him, and tears keep streaming down her face as she gives him the one thing she hasn't given him yet.

**x**

Some days, she feels almost happy. Perhaps content is the best word, though.

Because, in a way, he's still himself – or at least he tries to be. He still makes her laugh, he still annoys the hell out of her, he still puts her job constantly on the line, he still smiles at her like she's everything to him.

He even makes her paper frogs and buys her delicious fudge sundaes.

But she knows they cannot repeat the past, no matter how hard they try. And, in all truth, maybe they don't even want to.

It's a warm summer night and he's walking out of her shower, searching around for his clothes while humming a tune she's never heard before softly under his breath. She sits on the bed and watches him, smiling slightly at the sight of him fumbling about in her closet, thinking that perhaps things aren't so bad after all.

He reaches up to grab a shirt from the top drawer and her eyes fall on the gold wedding band around his finger, and her heart sinks. She knows she can never replace his dead wife, and she would be damned if she ever wanted to.

A lump rises in her throat, and she knows that what they have will never be pure, and it will never be complete. They can delude themselves all they want, but they're too caught up in their own pasts. (And she could never bear it if he suddenly decided to forget his lost family for her sake.)

Not that he will.

**x  
**

He gets worried when she starts drinking, and tries to make her stop, tries to make her happy again.

She tries to explain to him that she was never happy to begin with.

It's not long before they start fighting, and she's screaming at him to leave her alone the moment he walks through her front door. A bottle of wine is hanging limply from her fingers and she wants to throw it at him. She wants _him_ to throw something at _her_, to yell at her, to stop being patient and trying to fix her.

She's just as broken as he is, and she has the right to remain so, she shouts at him. If he wants to repair someone, he can start with himself.

She pushes him away when he tries to put his arms around her. She sobs and pummels his chest but he doesn't back away, and she ends up crying with her face buried in his neck, his right hand stroking her hair while his left holds her tightly against him.

And she hates him for making her feel so weak. She hates herself for doing this to both of them.

**x**

They lie side by side on her porch, gazing up at the stars.

They've closed yet another case, and they've accumulated more than enough lawsuits from the victims' outraged families. Despite the consistent reprimands from their superiors, Lisbon smiles.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asks softly, and he takes a deep breath.

"It is." His voice is barely audible in the quiet of the night, and when she turns her head to look at him he's smiling as well.

She swallows, but her placid, contented facade doesn't falter when she speaks again. "We can never be fixed," she murmurs, ruining the moment, and he blinks his blue eyes in confusion that quickly turns into understanding.

"Don't say such things," he says, turning his gaze skywards again.

She sighs, contemplating whether she should tell him she loves him. In another life, she would have. Because she knows she does.

They next day she avoids him as much as she can, and when the sun sets again she locks herself in her bedroom, lies down on her bed and swallows a mouthful of pills her doctor has told her to be careful with.

But then she wakes up, after what feels like decades, and she's in a too-narrow room with white walls and ceiling, Jane clutching her hand and looking as though he's been through hell and back. Her mind slowly registers the humming sound of the machines around her, and she wants to scream.

"Teresa, what where you thinking?" he asks, his voice strained like he's been yelling. Or crying.

She closes her eyes in defeat.

**x**

Sometimes she can't help but think that if they could trade each other for the lives they had before they met, they would.


End file.
